


Ever an Eternity

by MerHums



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Declarations Of Love, Developing Relationship, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Violence, Rape Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-23
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2019-02-19 06:48:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13118307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MerHums/pseuds/MerHums
Summary: Dating for months, Greg and Mycroft are getting along well. But Greg's getting concerned with whatever it is Mycroft's hiding, whatever 'thing' it is that makes sadness flicker in Mycroft's eyes, even when he's saying he's happy. Eventually, something has to come to the surface.





	Ever an Eternity

**Author's Note:**

> Caution. This fic contains a brief description of rape, torture and other descriptions of violence, as well as talks on the healing process after such an event through the eyes of a character. If you may be triggered by any of this material, the authors ask that you not proceed in reading. The authors would also like to point out that these topics are not meant to be romanticized in anyway, rather that they are used to show how characters may react in such cases.
> 
> If you or a loved one has been sexually assaulted, please contact the national help line at:  
> 800 656 4673 (United States)  
> 0808 802 9999 (United Kingdom)
> 
> If you or a loved one is suffering from domestic violence, please contact the national help line at:  
> 24-hour National Domestic Violence Freephone Helpline 0808 2000 247 (United Kingdom)  
> National Domestic Violence Hotline at 1−800−799−7233 (United States)  
> National Child Abuse Hotline 1-800-422-4453 (United States + Canada)

Greg tapped his hands against the steering wheel of his cruiser, stuck at a traffic light. He watched the pedestrians walking past, musing about his current issue. He and Mycroft had been dating, for nearly four months now. And beyond a few under the clothes handjobs and blowjobs, they hadn’t moved onto anything more physical. It wasn’t that he minded. There was more to a relationship than what you did in bed. It was more the look of fear and anxiety that flickered across Mycroft’s face whenever Greg’s hands strayed to the hem of his shirt, or under the jacket of his suit. He would shutter it down, but Greg was trained to notice things, and he noticed. And God forbid he invite Mycroft to stay the night, even though he swore that nothing would happen. Mycroft wouldn’t even take his jacket off in front of Greg, let alone change into pajamas. He sighed as the light changed and he drove forward. He and Mycroft had a date tonight, dinner and cuddles on the couch during a movie at Greg’s place. Greg would be cooking, had a cake in the backseat for after and a bottle of wine. 

Mycroft stared into the mirror, deciding between two ties. He knew he should dress down, that it was only going to be dinner at Greg’s place, but after so long of being careful, it was impossible to be in public in anything less than a suit, and in private maybe his shirt and waistcoat, though even that was questionable and limited to only family. He hadn’t even taken his jacket off with Greg. He knew the Inspector was getting antsy and privately he wondered how much longer Greg would put up with it before deciding that Mycroft Holmes was more trouble than he was worth.

Greg sent a text off to Mycroft, asking how long he'd be and turned back to the oven, sliding the casserole dish out with careful hands. He smiled, the dish coming out perfectly golden on top and went to set the table, singing under his breath. He glanced over as his phone lit up, signaling Mycroft would be arriving in thirty minutes, and went to fix the wine and bring the cake out to sit. 

Mycroft nodded to his driver as he gathered his umbrella and got out of the car. Even though he knew he didn’t need to, he still knocked politely on the door.

"It's open!" Greg called out from the kitchen, lighting a candle in the center of his little table. He grinned as Mycroft entered, setting down his umbrella. "Hullo, love." 

Mycroft stopped, taking in the romantic setting. It was beautiful. He felt tears sting the corner of his eyes. He only wished he could give Greg what he really wanted. “Thank you. It’s beautiful.” He leaned his umbrella against the door.

Greg frowned at the look in Mycroft’s eyes. “You all right?” He blew out the match, and came over, setting his arms around Mycroft’s neck. “Hi,” he murmured quietly, looking at him carefully. “You look a bit sad. Is it work, or something else?” 

Mycroft leaned in to kiss him. “You’re just a very good man,” he said quietly. “And...I wish I could give you what you need.”

“Hmm,” Greg said kissing him again. “What aren’t you giving me? You’re here aren’t you?” 

“But I’m not giving you what you physically need. I know that.”

“Yeah, I’m not too worried.” Greg smiled. “There’s a lot more to a relationship than that. I chose you. I want you, no matter what. Okay?” He took Mycroft’s hand and squeezed lightly. “Come on. Dinner.” 

“Okay.” Mycroft followed him to the table and put on a smile. “Smells delicious.”

Greg watched Mycroft carefully through dinner, but whatever had come over him at the start of the evening had seemingly disappeared by the time they finished their dessert and retired to the couch with the last dregs of wine. Mycroft curled into him as Greg flipped the movie on, something black and white with English subtitles because everyone was speaking French. He shrugged, dimmed the lights and settled in to watch. 

This was the sort of film Mycroft usually enjoyed, but it had been a long day and he slowly found himself nodding off in Greg’s arms.

Greg looked down in surprise as Mycroft relaxed into his hold, far more than usual. He tipped his head forward, noting that the man’s eyes were closed. With a small shrug, he ensured Mycroft’s head was pillowed and paused the movie, flipping over to a rerun of Doctor Who and muting it. 

Mycroft was dreaming. He was back there, curled up in a ball on the hard stone floor. They’d used him, again, degrading him, calling him names, beating him in between. Every time he thought he’d run out of tears, there would be more. And the worst part was he didn’t know if he’d ever escape alive. He wasn’t here in any capacity that the government would claim to know about. Only a handful of people even knew about this mission, before it went south. He was expendable and he knew that.

The door clanged open and he whimpered, tucking into himself though it would do no good. “Englishmen. They always beg like dogs.” And sharp kick sent pain radiating down his spine.

Greg came out of his light doze with the sudden awareness that something was wrong. He glanced around the room, noting nothing out of place before realizing what had woken him was Mycroft tensing in his arms, back bowing out as if he had been pushed forward but had no where to go. At his partner's low whimper, he sat up, shaking him gently. “Mycroft. Wake up. My, come on, open your eyes.” 

Mycroft came awake suddenly, protecting his head for a moment before realizing where he was. He blushed and tried to pull away. "I'm sorry."

“Whoa, My.” Greg replied, backing off a little, but keeping him in the circle of his arms. “Sorry? What for?” 

“I obviously disturbed you,” he said, not looking at Greg’s face.

“Yeah, I was dozing off,” Greg agreed. “But I think this might be a little more than that, cause you aren’t looking at me.” 

“You do not want to know the details.”

Greg sighed. "From what I can tell, you had a nightmare, right? And if you don't wanna tell me what it was about, that's fine. But it's nothing to be ashamed of. I have them, too." 

“I am certain you have seen your fair share of trouble as a police officer.”

"Yep." Greg said quietly. He bit his lip before continuing. "There was one, just a young kid I'd interacted with before. Living on the streets, ended up in an alleyway beaten to death. For some reason, they didn't touch his face. He had these eyes, bottle glass green. And they just stared, My. Begging me to find who did it. I never was able to, and he's my worst dream. It's always in the eyes, everything you need to know." He pressed his hands on the side of Mycroft's jaw, turning him to face him. "Your eyes are so sad, so scared sometimes. You can't think I don't notice." 

“You’ve always been observant,” said Mycroft quietly. “It was almost twenty years ago now.”

"Do you want to talk about it?" Greg asked gently, stroking his fingers softly over Mycroft's hand. 

“It’s a very long, very ugly story.”

"If you don't want to, then that's fine. But sometimes talking about it helps. I just hope that you'll trust me enough one day to talk to me." 

"I trust you more than most," Mycroft said quietly. Looking at Greg he slowly took off his suit coat. Of course his shirt was buttoned to the wrists and he hadn’t loosened his tie.

Greg remained quiet, watching as Mycroft slid off his jacket. He set his hand gently on the man's shoulder after. "You don't have to My." 

Mycroft wondered if Greg could feel his scars through the thin material. “Perhaps...perhaps it has been long enough.”

"Only as much as you are comfortable with, love." 

Mycroft met his eyes. “I’ve been carrying these demons for a very long time. I have not let anyone get close enough to me to see. Perhaps...I am tired of carrying this burden.”

"Would you rather we move? Be more comfortable in the bedroom?" Greg asked. He wanted Mycroft to feel at ease, and would do anything to get him to that level. 

“I...don’t know. Is there more wine?”

"Mhmm," Greg said, fetching it and settling back down with the bottle.

Mycroft poured himself a glass and downed most of it, watching Greg over the rim.

"If....." Greg bit his lip. "If that isn't enough, I've got something a bit stronger in the cupboard?" He poured himself a glass as well, something about Mycroft's demeanor telling him it was a good idea. 

"That might be wise."

Greg blinked. Mycroft never drank hard liquor. He barely ever had wine. Still he got up and rummaged deep, pulling out two tumblers and the bottle handing it over to Mycroft. 

"Thank you. Liquid courage."

"'S alright." Greg said watching him. "My, whatever it is....I'm not going to leave. You know that right?" 

"I hope not."

"I won't. You'd be hard pressed to find something that would make me." Greg said with a shrug. "I love you, you know that. So whatever it is, we'll get through it." 

Mycroft took a long swig. "When I was twenty-three something happened to me." He looked at his glass as the liquid burned down his throat.

"Alright." Greg said, taking the bottle for a swig of his own.

“I haven’t talked about it to anyone but a therapist years ago, and my superiors. I should be dead. I should have died.”

"But you didn't." 

“Obviously.” Mycroft took another sip. “I’m not sure where to begin.”

"Well. I just...what can you tell me?" Greg asked, reaching out for his hand again. 

Mycroft took it. “I was recruited while I was still in University for some work with the government.”

Greg nodded, examining a small starburst scar over Mycroft's knuckle. 

Sighing, Mycroft looked at his glass again. “I was inserted into a country. I knew when I accepted the assignment that if anything went wrong the government would disavow any knowledge of me. Something went wrong.”

Greg brought his hand to his mouth, pressing a gentle kiss over the scar.

Mycroft shivered. “The short version is I was held nearly a year. Torture...abuse...I don’t know why they kept me alive. I had no information to give them. In the end I was thrown into a sack and I thought they were finally going to kill me. Instead I was dumped near enough to the border for some friendly soldiers to find me.”

"Christ, My." Greg breathed. "I don't even know what to say." 

Mycroft shook his head and downed the rest of his drink, starting to reach for the bottle with a shaking hand.

"My, do you really need more?" Greg asked. "If you want it that's one thing, though getting drunk won't solve anything." He sighed, handing him the bottle. "You wanna get plastered, well, I'll do it with you." 

Mycroft looked at it a moment, then set it down. “As you said, it won’t solve anything. Nor will it change what’s happened in the past. Though it is tempting. I spent the following year in physical therapy for the injuries I’d sustained.”

"I've noticed that you seem....stiff sometimes. Just the barest hint of a limp without your umbrella." 

“It serves as a cane, on occasion,” admitted Mycroft. “As I’ve grown older things have worsened. My doctors have told me I was lucky that I was so young when it happened, had I been older I may not have survived or been paralyzed.”

Greg gave a sad sound and edged closer to Mycroft, pressing up against his side. He lifted their conjoined hands, pressing the back of Mycroft's to his cheek. "I'm sorry." 

Mycroft closed his eyes and leaned against him. “I still bear the physical scars as well.”

"I'm sorry." Greg repeated, "It must be hard, everyday to look in the mirror and be reminded." 

“More than you can know. It has been twenty years, as I said, but I’m still haunted.”

"Is there anything...I want to help." Greg turned his head away, not wanting Mycroft to see the tears forming in his eyes. "Is there something I can do?" It wasn't pity he felt, but a need to show Mycroft that he wanted to help, to do anything to make it easier. 

“I don’t know. I..I’ve never been intimate with anyone, never allowed anyone to see...But…” He reached out to touch Greg’s hand.

“But?” Greg prompted, swallowing and looking up at him as he took his hand.

“I...love you, Gregory.” Mycroft blushed and ran his free hand through his hair, remembering how they’d shaved it.

“I love you, too.” Greg said simply, watching as Mycroft flushed. He waited for Mycroft to continue, to get out the words he was obviously chewing over in his head. 

“I...I was abused...in every way.”

“Oh…” Greg said quietly. “And, well are you still interested I suppose? If not that’s fine. But I need to know, so I don’t make you uncomfortable with anything I do. I don’t want to hurt you in any way, My,” he finished, meeting Mycroft’s eyes. “Either way, you know it changes nothing. You’re still my Mycroft. I still love you.” 

“I honestly don’t know.” Mycroft looked at the bottle. “I...I’ve never even tried. Before, yes, I’d had lovers. But never after.”

“Can I kiss you?” Greg asked, moving his hand to Mycroft’s jaw, tipping his face up. “Please?” 

Mycroft’s breath caught. “Yes.”

Greg searched his eyes for a moment, before leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “If you ever wish to try. I’m here for you. Promise. If not, then it’s fine.” He murmured against his mouth before kissing him once more. 

Mycroft found himself chasing Greg’s kiss. He struggled to keep control. It had been decades since he’d even allowed himself to be touched outside of a simple professional handshake.

“My…” Greg murmured, bringing a hand up, running it through Mycroft’s waves, pushing his hair back. “You don’t have to hide from me.” 

At such a gentle touch, Mycroft gave out a gasping sob, burying his head against Greg’s shoulder and shaking with the force of emotion.

Greg wrapped his arms around him, holding Mycroft close as the man shook in his arms. He rocked him slowly, as if comforting a small child. 

Mycroft sobbed until his chest hurt. Greg was holding him. Greg wasn’t revolted. Hell, Greg loved him. Somehow, despite everything. Eventually, his sobbing came to a hiccupy end.

Greg waited until Mycroft’s gasping came to an end, as he slowly tipped his head up, looking at Greg with red rimmed eyes. “Better, love?” Greg asked gently. “Sometimes we all need a good cry, and I feel like it’s been awhile since you had one, yeah?” 

Mycroft nodded mutely.

“All right then.” Greg murmured, stroking his back. “All right.” 

“Would.” Mycroft cleared his throat. “Would you take me to bed?”

Greg pulled him back, checking his face. "If you want to, I will. But you need anything, to stop, to slow down...you have to tell me." He dropped a kiss to Mycroft's brow. "I mean it." 

“For twenty years I haven’t allowed anyone to get close to me. I’m...lonely,” he admitted.

"No more, love,." Greg breathed. "I don't want you going lonely anymore." 

Mycroft stood, taking his hand. “It’s not just that I’m lonely. It’s you, Gregory. I want you. I...I dream about you sometimes too, I think about you. You fill my waking moments and ease me in a way no one else ever has. You don’t press me to know about my day or reveal things I cannot. Even now, when presented with the worst horror of my life, you don’t flinch away. You run to me, to comfort me. I can be myself with you in a way cannot with anyone else. And that is why I love you.”

Greg stood when he was tugged up, and swallowing against the lump in his throat, pulled Mycroft close. "I wouldn't ever leave My. The only damned thing you could do to get me to leave is if you asked me." 

'Or cheat' were the unspoken words, but Greg knew that he'd never have to worry about that again, not as long as he was with Mycroft. He tucked his head onto Mycroft’s shoulder, for once grateful for the height difference. "I love you. So much." Greg felt Mycroft's arm settle around his waist and he smiled. Pressing a kiss to the curve of cotton covered skin under his lips, Greg raised his head, seeking out Mycroft's mouth. After a slow kiss, hands coming up to cup cheeks and noses bumping, they broke apart. "You ready, My?" Greg asked softly. 

“Yes. Please. Your bedroom.”

"All right." Greg took his hands, and walked backwards through the hall, never letting his eyes move away from Mycroft's. When they reached the closed door, Greg stopped. "Um, My. I wasn't expecting anything tonight. Not this certainly, but...." He flushed and turned the handle, pushing the door open. He glanced at the bed, flower petals scattered and thrown into relief by the soft lamplight. 

"I just thought, tonight I might be able to convince you to sleep over. And, I know it's silly, but well I wanted it to be special if you did...." Greg trailed off as Mycroft continued to look in. "My?" 

“It’s beautiful.” Mycroft leaned in to kiss him. Biting his lip, he stepped away from Greg and began unbuttoning his waistcoat, breathing evenly.

Greg watched as Mycroft slid the buttons from their slots, moving to sit on the bed and pulling off his own shirt. 

Mycroft saw the gray of Greg’s chest, remembering that first night, how natural the slow kisses had been, then later, more frantic kisses in the back of his car, hand in Greg’s pants as he worked him over, Greg never asking for more, taking whatever he was willing to offer.

With another few slow breaths, Mycroft set the waistcoat over the back of a chair. Eyes fixed on Greg, he removed his tie and began unbuttoning his shirt, watching for his reaction.

Greg took in a careful breath as Mycroft's shirt came off, revealing his skin, laced with scars. Greg saw rope marks, burns, slices and pockmarks from blades. He swallowed, refusing to look away. Mycroft needed to know that he wasn't running. As his shirt slipped off completely, Greg focused on a dark block of text at his heart, surrounding one of the worst burns. He met Mycroft’s eyes, curious and still quiet as he stood and came close, pressing his hand flat over his heart. 

“We shall draw from the heart of suffering itself the means of inspiration and survival,” quoted Mycroft softly. “Churchill.”

"In Latin?" Greg queried gently. "Somehow, I'm not surprised, love." He smiled sadly, thumb stroking over the scar tissue."You really weren't expected to live, were you? Not with this." 

“No. I couldn’t walk when they found me either.”

Greg swallowed. "How bad...I mean...your legs or your back? Or...it was both wasn't it. It was everything." 

“My back mostly. I was kicked a lot. I...spent a lot of time curled up in a ball,” he admitted quietly. “It hurt, constantly.” Mycroft undid his belt and dropped his trousers, leaving the pants for now. The scars on his legs weren’t quite as bad, but the memories were, memories of blood flowing from him, running down and between his legs. Of cruel laughter, of wet and fear and pain. Light headed, he gripped the edge of the dresser for support.

Greg moved forward as Mycroft closed his eyes and clutched white knuckled at the dresser. He pried his fingers away, twining their hands together. "I've got you." 

Mycroft leaned on him. “They used me,” he said softly. “All of them. Enjoyed making me bleed. I lost track of how many….how much…”

Greg swallowed, kissing his temple. "It's all right. Never again." He murmured, at a loss for anything more to say beyond these simple words. There was nothing he could do, nothing that could erase what had happened. He felt tears pricking the corners of his eyes as he held Mycroft in his arms. 

“It was a long time before I could even touch myself again. And as I said, I’ve never let anyone close. When you sucked me off, well, that was why I was nervous.”

"Christ, My. We...please tell me you wanted it when I touched you." Greg felt a sudden, nauseating, wave of guilt. He had assumed that Mycroft was just worried about their relationship being new, and moving it to the next level, not anything like this. 

Mycroft cupped his cheek and kissed him. “I did and I do. You’re patient and I want you. I want to feel your hands on me. I want to feel you inside of me. I want to remember what pleasure this is.” He took Greg’s hand and put it on his cock, half-hard through his pants.

Greg nodded. He pulled his hand away, and kissed Mycroft, licking his way into his mouth as he moved them over to the bed to sit on the edge. "How do you want me?" 

“I need to be able to see you.”

"Lay back, love." Greg murmured gently, guiding him toward the pillows. He moved off the bed, stripping down to his pants as well and fetching a bottle of lube from the drawer. He hesitated, hands fiddling with a foil packet. "My...Should we use protection?" 

“I’ll let you decide that,” he said, picking up a rose petal and smelling it.

"If you want it, we'll use it." Greg said quietly watching as Mycroft crushed the petal between his fingers. "I'm clean, you know that. I got tested after Claire left and it's only been you since. But this is for you." 

“Then let’s not. I want to feel you.”

Greg nodded and slid the drawer shut. He climbed onto the bed, positioning himself at Mycroft's feet. Reaching out, he took Mycroft's hand and brought his fingers to his lips, kissing the red tinged skin. 

Mycroft moaned softly, body reacting as he watched him, anticipating.

Greg slipped his tongue from between his lips, lapping at his skin before letting his hand fall. He moved closer, kneeling over Mycroft's thighs as the man laid back against the pillows. He leaned down, cupping Mycroft's face gently. 

Mycroft’s breath was short, but his cock was fully invested now. watching Greg, he pushed his pants down. “I want you.”

"You have me. No matter what." Greg breathed, moving down Mycroft's body. 

Mycroft trembled slightly as he felt Greg’s hands on his skin. He could feel the difference between scars and bare skin. But there was no disgust, no recoil as Greg moved down his body.

Greg pressed a kiss over each mark, each scar he came upon until he reached the trail of red curls beneath Mycroft's belly button. He looked up at Mycroft, waiting for his go ahead, hands resting on his scarred hips.

Mycroft nodded. “Please.”

Greg dipped his head, tracing a scar with slightly parted lips as it curved down between Mycroft's legs. At Mycroft's gasp, he shifted over, gently taking the head of his cock between his lips. 

Mycroft murmured something in Latin, rocking his hips up, wanting more. At least this was a bit familiar. Greg had sucked him off in the back of his car a few weeks ago. He’d wanted it then, he wanted it now. And he wanted so much more.

Greg took Mycroft into his mouth, hollowing his cheeks carefully. 

“Good,” whispered Mycroft. “Touch me.”

Greg bobbed his head, one hand sliding down to fondle his bollocks, the other twisting around the base of his cock. 

“More,” Mycroft panted

Greg took him all the way down, and held for a moment before pulling off completely and reaching for the lube. He looked up at Mycroft, questioningly holding it up. 

Mycroft nodded, tears stinging his eyes. “Please, don’t stop.”

"I know." Greg clicked the bottle open, slicking his fingers. He moved back, taking Mycroft back into his mouth as he slid a hand under his hips. "Bend up a bit, love."

Mycroft obeyed, breathing heavily as he watched him. He groaned as Greg’s finger stroked along his entrance. “Oh yes, love, please love.”

At Mycroft's plea, Greg pressed in. He slid carefully, crooking it once he was in past the knuckle. 

Gasping, Mycroft arched off the bed. “Yes!”

Greg worked in and out for a bit, before sliding as second and a third, careful to pace himself, kissing Mycroft's thigh at each intrusion. He stroked over Mycroft's prostate gently, hardly enough to tease. 

Mycroft writhed against him. “God, please, Gregory.” He was already overwhelmed with pleasure.

"I've got you." Greg murmured. "Do you want to come like this?" 

“I want you in me.”

"Okay, okay." Greg breathed, pulling his hands away and slicking himself. At the easy slide of his hand over his cock, Mycroft panting and flushed beneath him, Greg shuddered,closing his eyes as he focused his attentions on "not-coming". He shook his head, opening his eyes again. Mycroft was watching him, and Greg smiled down. "Hi, love." He murmured quietly, sliding his clean hand through Mycroft's hair. He nudged Mycroft's legs apart, leaning down to kiss him as he lined himself up. 

Mycroft’s breath caught as he felt Greg press inside. He kept his eyes open, on him.

"Come on, sweetheart," Greg whispered, "Just relax for me. You're doing fine. You’re safe here. I have you." 

Mycroft kissed him, letting his eyes close, relaxing.

"That's it," Greg groaned as he slid in. 

Mycroft wrapped his arms around Greg, feeling his skin beneath his hands. He felt full as Greg pushed deeper, starting to move.

Greg thrust in slow, rocking his hips as he kissed Mycroft, one hand bracing him against the mattress, the other cupping Mycroft's face. 

Mycroft opened his eyes again. “I love you.”

"I love you too, My." Greg said, and rolled them so Mycroft was on top. "So much, sweetheart." 

Bracing himself, Mycroft started rolling his hips, gaping with pleasure as Greg struck gold inside of him. “Yes,” he whispered.

“Are you going to come for me, love?” Greg murmured, reaching a hand up to stroke Mycroft’s cock. “I want you to come all over me, cover my chest and belly. Mark me.” 

Mycroft gave a strangled cry and came. After so long it was nothing but a relief.

Greg kept his eyes open as Mycroft shuddered above him, watching the release flit across his face. He rocked his hips gently to the side, cock still hard and heavy inside him. “Gorgeous. My love.” 

Panting, Mycroft opened his eyes. “Fuck me, Gregory.”

Greg’s breath caught at the look in Mycroft’s eyes. Need, hunger, want. There weren’t words to describe it. He licked his lips, and rolled them over again, driving into Mycroft. He pushed deep, holding tight over his hips as he leaned down and claimed his mouth. A few more thrusts and he was coming hard, back arching. 

Groaning, Mycroft felt all the fear wiped away as he writhed with pleasure underneath his lover, for at least the moment forgetting everything else.

Greg pulled out gently, collapsing with a groan next to Mycroft. “Christ, love. That was….” He shook his head, hitching a leg over Mycroft’s waist. “I don’t even know. Are you all right sweetheart?” 

Mycroft nodded, reaching over to cup his cheek and kiss him gently.

“Going to stay tonight?” Greg asked quietly, once their breathing was back under control. 

“As long as you’ll have me.”

“Forever, then,” Greg murmured, pulling him into his arms. “Forever and an eternity.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! You can find us on AO3 at [Janto321 ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/FaceofMer/)and [HumsHappily](http://archiveofourown.org/users/humshappily) or on tumblr at [merindab ](http://merindab.tumblr.com)(janto321) and [HumsHappily](http://hums-happily.tumblr.com)!


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